The Kingdom of Remus had the largest army, and also possessed the world’s biggest airborne force, I thought.

  The Humvee Mikhail and I were riding in, as well as the ambulance carrying Mikhail’s father, couldn’t move further into the city, because a Remus military BMD-4 tank and accompanying troops were just a few meters ahead. Our convoy of three vehicles immediately turned around upon spotting them. They fired at us, and we quickly turned onto a side street. We weren’t hit directly by the shell, but the explosion struck a building, causing a large amount of tiles and steel bars to fall from it. The ambulance ran over the shrapnel and blew a tire, making it unable to move.

  The medics were busy transferring Mikhail’s father from the stretcher into our Humvee. Another Humvee stood guard nearby. Upon seeing Remus soldiers approaching, it immediately opened fire with its machine gun, preventing the soldiers from advancing. Once the stretcher, the ambulance driver, and two medics were all on board, we and the other Humvee tried to flee. However, the enemy’s BMD-4 advanced and fired, destroying the other Humvee. The explosion scattered debris in all directions. I pushed Mikhail’s head and mine down to avoid getting hit by the fragments.

  Our Humvee turned again into an alley, but it was too narrow, and the vehicle quickly crashed into a streetlamp.

  Although it could still move, the Humvee couldn’t pass through, and reversing would expose us to enemy fire. I pulled Mikhail out of the car. Along with the soldier driving and the ambulance crew carrying the stretcher, we hid in a nearby building. We entered the front door. It looked like a department store. We went into the lobby and ran into a coffee shop, where some civilians were also taking shelter.

  We hid together in the café. I knew that the Remus troops would search floor by floor, and when that happened… I might have to kill again.

  Mikhail’s father was still unconscious. Mikhail anxiously asked the medics if his father would be alright. Although the medics kept trying to comfort him, everyone knew clearly—he had to be taken to a hospital for surgery as soon as possible...

  “I’m sorry, I’m a surgeon. I might be able to save him,” said a civilian who was also taking shelter.

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  “But I need equipment—from the pharmacy upstairs,” he added.

  In this country, pharmacies even sold scalpels and anesthetics—though only licensed doctors could purchase them.

  “I’ll go with you,” I said.

  At that moment, I had to take initiative to save Mikhail’s father.

  At the strong request of the other refugees, I asked the store clerk for a kitchen knife. Then, together with the surgeon and a soldier, we went upstairs to the pharmacy. We climbed the stairs to the second floor and ran into the pharmacy. It was empty.

  The surgeon found a locked cabinet with the needed equipment. I searched the counter for the key, but then heard gunshots—the soldier fired his AK-74M at the cabinet, breaking the lock and opening it.

  I knew very well—this would surely alert the enemy to our presence in the building.

  “Sorry, but we’re out of time,” the soldier said.

  The surgeon froze for a moment, then came to his senses and quickly took out the needed tools from the cabinet. I carried part of the equipment, and under the soldier’s cover, we hurried downstairs back to the café.

  At the far end of the café, the doctor and medics began the surgery. I waited with Mikhail and the other civilians.

  “It’s going to be alright. The doctor is performing the surgery now. And someone with the same blood type is even willing to donate blood to your dad. We’re really lucky—your dad will be okay,” I comforted Mikhail.

  Mikhail nodded repeatedly, sobbing. No wonder—his father had been seriously injured in a sudden attack. It was impossible for an ordinary student to stay calm in such a situation.

  A soldier guarded the café entrance. Suddenly, he opened fire, and someone returned fire—shooting and breaking open the soldier’s head.

  A woman quickly covered her mouth, trying not to scream.

  The situation was dire. I rushed to the door, careful not to expose myself to enemy fire, and took the soldier’s assault rifle.

  It seemed the enemy’s footsteps were getting closer. I held the gun—it had a bayonet attached. I waited until the footsteps were nearest, just before the enemies stepped into the café, then slipped out and used the wall for cover to open fire, killing three Remus wolfkin soldiers.

  I aimed the gun around to make sure no one else was there. Then I picked up the AKM from one of the soldiers I had killed and took a few magazines from his vest. I returned to the café to inspect the newly acquired weapon—because I was more familiar with how to operate an AKM.

  Mikhail looked at me in surprise from behind. Of course—he was probably shocked that I was so familiar with how to use guns. I only hoped the sight of that soldier getting shot in the head wouldn’t become a trauma for him.

  Everyone’s eyes were on me. I tried to ignore them and guarded the café entrance with my gun.